Conquest
by Working Class Wildcard
Summary: AU. In life, we must all conquer our demons; fear, death, life, and the constant struggle between good and evil in our nature. We are who we decide to be, no matter what we get thrown at us. The gang has to face their past, and prepare for everything that's to come. Nothing will ever be 'simple' again, but, honestly, was it ever?
1. Christian's Inferno

**Well, I'm back. This is to be considered my come back, considering I've been gone a year. I always come back strong, so this story has my upmost attention. Enjoy :)**

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August 12th, 1965; 2:37 PM

If you were to be standing on the edge of a timeworn, dusty road in Windrixville, Oklahoma, at the time preceding this passage, you'd probably see a T-Bird take one hell of a turn on two-wheels around the corner. If you were an observant sort, you'd see three teenagers, two looking sick to their stomachs, and one with a glare on his face that would make pit-bull wince. If you read the Sunday Paper, you'd notice that the three were none other than young murderer suspects Jonathon Cade and Ponyboy Curtis, and Dallas Winston, accessory to said murder. These three had made front page this issue, if you can believe it. You'd probably think to call the fuzz, not wanting to risk the welfare of your small town.

But, you probably weren't. And if you were, your call was useless.

"Dammit, Johnny. Why did you make me send you two to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere if you were just gonna turn yourselves in?" said Dallas, taking another drag of his Kool. He glared at it when he noticed he was almost to the letters. "Damn good hideout, wasted." His knuckles were white over the steering wheel.

Johnny sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. An angry Dallas wasn't something to be trifled with, sure, but a headache was edging at the end of his brain due to stress. "I don't know, Dal. I just panicked, ya know? What was I supposed to do?" He winced when he realized how harsh his words sounded.

Either Dallas didn't notice, or he didn't care. "You tell me. You're the one that got yourself into this. If you had a better idea, ya shoulda said somethin' a week ago." Upon seeing the dark-haired Greaser stare into his hands like the world depended on it, he softened. Well, as much as a hood _can_ soften. "Look, I ain't mad at you, kid. I just don't wanna see you come outta prison like me, ya dig? You don't wanna be like that, Johnnycake, and I don't want ya to, either."

Johnny turned his large dark eyes up to his idol. "Why wouldn't I wanna be like you?" he asked, sounding too much like an anxious youth for Dally's taste.

"Because ya just don't," said the flaxen man, not having much of an answer. Johnny looked more dejected than ever, so he tried a different tactic. "What would the world do if it had Dallas Winston and junior runnin' amuck? God save the Queen, that's what." He smirked at the thought of two of himself tearing Tulsa to shreds, but he remembered he was angry, so he took another drag of his fag. "'Sides, there're too many no-goods out there, anyway, like myself. You ain't got no business being like them."

Johnny grinned half-heartedly, deciding to humor the man. "I guess you got a point."

"Ya know," Pony piped up from the back seat. "Maybe, if we turn ourselves in, he'll get some time in juvie or somethin'. He isn't eighteen yet; happens to Curly Shepard all the time."

"Great idea, Pone. Truly one for the ages," came the sarcastic reply. "Do you really think I'da sent you both out here if all you were gonna get was juvie?" The blond didn't even have to turn his head for Ponyboy to tell that he had said the wrong thing. The scowl might as well have been plastered to Dal's neck. He took the next turn with more vigor than necessary, even for him. The youngest of the three shrank back in his seat, wishing he had kept his silence.

"I was just sayin'. As many times as Curly got jailed, and he still hasn't gone to prison, there had to be a chance…" he finished, wanting to at least clarify himself.

_Yeah, well, Curly Shepard ain't ever killed nobody, _Dallas thought ruefully. He flung the used up butt out the window and lit a new one while driving with his knees. _That, or he never got caught._ One could never know, bearing in mind his brother was the notorious gang leader Tim Shepard.

"He's right, Dal," Johnny said, eager at the prospect. "We can give you back the gun, hitch a ride home, and say we just hid around town, sleeping in the woods, nicking food here and there. You won't get in trouble for helpin' us, neither. If Cherry and Randy testify for us, like ya said, everyone'll know it was self-defense, and I'll bet we get off easier for going in ourselves. It's flawless. "

Dallas scoffed. "I and you," He pointed his cig at Johnny. "Both know that us Greasers get it worse than anybody else. If it were up to the law, every kid in leather'd be walking the last march right this second." He glanced sidelong at the younger passenger. "Do you really wanna take that chance?"

Johnny looked thoughtful for a moment, weighing his options. He really didn't think he'd get death row, but he had no way to be sure… He opened his mouth to speak, but only a slight squeak came out, due to the sight of sparks in front of the three.

"Golly," Dally muttered, almost crashing the car due to distraction.

The church was on fire.

Ponyboy only had one thought on his mind; _We started it, we started it, WE STARTED IT! _

Dallas skidded the Bird to a stop that'd make the Duke boys proud, nearly ramming into some spectators. Their cries of scolding fell on deaf ears. All three boys' attentions were engulfed in the blaze, their eyes the size of saucers. None of them could believe the sight they were beholding.

They were broke from their trance when a single gunshot sounded from within the church.

"That'd be our gun," Johnny whimpered, his tanned face gone pastel.

Ponyboy looked ready to kill over. "My weed… Glory, my weed… I left it lit…"

The crowd, including the young Greasers, did nothing but eyeball the holy inferno. That is, until a distraught middle-aged woman came bounding up to a heavyset man near the three. "Jerry, some of the kids are missing! I checked everywhere, and I can't find them! Oh God, what if they're-"

The man, Jerry, cut her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He responded in what was plainly false calm. "They probably went to play in the woods. Give it a minute; I'm sure they'll be back. I doubt…"

The piercing sound of high-pitched shrieks coming from inside the cathedral caused him to trail off. Before anyone knew it, he went barreling up the hill with surprising speed for a man his age and heft. Ponyboy tried to hop out of the Bird to run after him, but Dallas had him collared before he could get his legs over the side.

"What in the Hell do you think yer doing?!" Dallas barked, firmly holding the boy down to try and stint his struggling.

"Let go of me, Dallas! Those kids are in there!" Ponyboy yelled, fighting harder than he ever had. Much to his chagrin, he was simply no match for the lean Greaser. "They'll burn to death! LET ME GO!"

"Ponyboy, listen to me. That guy just hauled ass down there," Dally told him through gritted teeth, pulling him up so they were nose to nose. He felt Ponyboy's jacket, (oddly enough, the one he had given him the week before) slipping from between his long fingers, so he moved to an awkward position over the seat to grab the boy around his slim middle. "The last thing he needs right now is another kid to save."

Ponyboy, detecting the reasoning Dallas had was right, let his struggle reduce to a wilted trembling. The crispy sound of glass breaking came from up the hill. The left window of the church was smashed in, shards strewn everywhere, and a single white patch of cloth could be seen serenely blowing in the wind, oddly contrasting to the chaos of the fire. When Dally noticed the third of the motley crew gently scooting toward his door, he was downright pissed.

"You open that door, I swear I'll beat your head in, gang's pet or not," he said, deathly calm. Unbeknownst to him, his grip had constricted on Ponyboy out of fury, causing the younger to let out a cry of distress. "Sorry, kid," Dallas mumbled, slacking his hold, but keeping his arms buckled around the younger in case he tried another escape.

Johnny hunched down in his seat. He doubted the blond would ever cash in on that, but he wasn't about to test him when he was in such a state. When they heard a racket from the crowd, the three snapped their heads toward the church. A small figure flew out of the side window, landing in a man's anticipating arms.

"See?" Dally asked Ponyboy, hoping to soothe the sniveling greaser. "Them kids'll be fine. Those guys got it handled. Now stop crying all over me," he said, feigning disgust and releasing the boy. When the bleach blond flushed and turned away, he mentally smacked himself. _Way to go, Winston, _he thought. Pony hated it when anyone pointed out his emotions, even though it was a rarity when he ever wept in the company of anyone other than Soda.

There wasn't a single wave of sound in the field that wasn't either crying or crackling of fire. Child after child came soaring out to safety, much to everyone's relief. The boys sat stagnant, watching and waiting. It may have been ten minutes, it may have been ten hours, but after a while of no children coming out, a call of, 'Is that all of them?' was answered by, 'Yeah! I'm coming out now!' There was a terrible crash, and Jerry dolphin-dived out of the window, doing an impressive barrel roll to land. The crowd gave a big cheer as Jerry jogged back down the hill to the school teacher.

"Tell me that's everybody," he managed, all the wind having left his body.

The teacher counted quickly. "Two, four, six, eigh - Melinda get over here _now_! - Eight, ten, twelve… No, we're missing two!"

Before Jerry could ascend back up Jay Mountain, the sound of wood cracking silenced everyone in the field. Everyone baulked, as people will do when they see something excruciating that they cannot control. The church collapsed. Two blood curdling screams rang out as the walls came plummeting down. They were silenced when the roof hit the ground with an anti-climactic thump.

Jerry tried to run back to the flaming cinders, but three men held him back.

"It's too late now, Jerry," said one man, close to tears. "It's too late. There'd be no point now."

Jerry, along with the three other men, fell to their knees, seemingly in prayer. Cries of women could be heard, and men could be seen taking off their hats. The children clustered together to cry.

When sirens could be heard in the distance, the sound of a T-Bird speeding out onto the open road bloodied the ears of the three boys inside it. Dallas knew what sirens meant, and he also knew what being caught at the scene of a fire meant, especially when on the lam. They were already wanted for murder; arson wasn't on his list of things he wanted to be jailed for.

_Neither is manslaughter of two kids, _he supposed. He tried not to think about it; JD or not, Dallas Winston never wanted to kill kids. He could pretend he didn't give a damn all he wanted, but he was pretty certain he'd be hearing those screams in his nightmares for a long while. But, true to his nature, he showed no external signs of distress.

Upon scrutiny, Dallas saw the two youngest of the gang were both allowing silent tears leave tracks down their cheeks. The blond shifted uneasily in his seat. He hated it when girls cried; when guys cried, he usually either laughed or left. Both options were useless to him now.

The one thing he could be proud of, though, was their attempts in trying to hide it. He always thought the two needed to man up. Maybe this would be the thing to do it. Well, if prison didn't get them first.

"I killed them…" Ponyboy said, almost inaudible. "I left my cigarette burning… I killed those kids…"

_Or maybe not. _"No you didn't," Dallas said softly. He didn't know the truth, probably never would, but his word was law, thus it was accurate. "No you didn't."

The occasional sniffle or slight sob was the only sound that could be heard in the car for a hot minute.

"So," Dallas said finally. "You still wanna turn yourselves in?"

The two young Greasers nodded without a word.

"Alright then."

He put the eroded old car in third gear, and flew down the dirt road, Hell on his heels.

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**Yes, I made Jerry a G. Do a barrel roll.**

**Reviews are always welcome, constructive criticisms are love, and flames must be well thought out with no typos :)**


	2. Go Your Own Way

**Thanks goes out to all who reviewed :) And to all those who alerted and such. It keeps me motivated.**

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August 12th, 1965; 9:15 PM

"No matter what happens, you stick to your story, alright? You change it, they find out, you get life without parole. They're gonna split you two up, so for the love of everything green, do _not _believe it when they say the other one confessed. Are you listenin'?" Dallas asked, aggravated that both of the young Greasers were looking off into space. "Do you know how important this is?"

"Yes, Dal," Ponyboy said monotonously. Dallas noted that this was the same tone he took when Darry reminded him to do something dumb (see: chores).

The three were parked outside the crowded Bingo hall, waiting for nightfall to settle in on Tulsa. The shabby roof of the T-Bird was strained over the boys, due to cold and upholding stealth. The way Dallas saw it, only the elderly went to Bingo, and everyone over the age of fifty was blind as a bat. No one was going to see them there. Just to be on the safe side, Ponyboy and Johnny, per Dally's instruction, were both bent down in their seats. The oldest of the trio had a fag in his hand and a scowl on his face, trying to look as threatening as possible to ward off meddlesome old people.

The two younger boys had stayed silent for the first leg of their ride, sniveling and wiping tears away. The eerie silence gave Dallas the creeps, but he had made himself be patient due to the circumstances. He was a master at putting things out of his head, thinking about them later, or even forgetting things completely. It was the only way to survive. So as far as he was concerned, there were no dead kids. There was no fire. And if anyone told him otherwise, they'd go home missing some teeth. The boys were just upset about going downtown, so he let them be while they wept.

Once they both mopped up their tears, and their breathing had returned to normal, he had them practice their story. He knew what to say to manipulate the fuzz, something he and Tim Shepard were aces at. Dallas wasn't a teacher by any standards, but thought the Greasers were coming along swimmingly.

"Okay hotshot, what happened last week?"

Johnny answered before the bleach blond got the chance. "Sheldon and his friends held me down and tried to drown Ponyboy, so when I got away from them, I took out my blade and stabbed the one holdin' him under. It just happened to be Bob." His eyes took on a hollow look, and he sounded as if he was speaking automatically. Dallas saw that as a good thing; he needed to remain stoic. "After that, they all ran off. We stayed there for a minute, then we left."

"Where'd you go?

Ponyboy answered this time. "We went to the Piggly Wiggly up the street right after we did…_it_, got bologna to last us the week, and hair dye."

"They didn't rob you?"

"Why would they need our money?" asked Ponyboy. "They've got plenty."

"And then?"

"We went deep into McKinley Forrest," Johnny said. "Hid by a stream, and there weren't any hunters or nothin'. We didn't see anyone, and no one saw us. We took turns bein' look out."

The man turned to Ponyboy. "Why'd you dye your hair?"

"We saw our descriptions in the paper, and we knew we needed to change them. We used our blade to cut our hair. Johnny's darker, and he wouldn't look right blond, so I dyed mine."

"Where did you find the paper?"

"Wind blew it up," Johnny said.

"Where'd all your supplies go; wrappers and such?"

"Tossed 'em out on the way up here."

"Why did I say you were in Texas?"

"Because a kid who tells is a dead kid," both youths responded at the same time. Frankly, they had gone over this so many times, Johnny could recite it in his sleep. "Greaser rule number one."

Dallas smirked. _Fast learners. _"Good. How'd you get to the station?"

"Well, it's already dark, so we just walked," Ponyboy said, putting on the guiltless, glossy eyes he was so fond of using. Dallas didn't know if he should be concerned in regards to how well Pony could lie, for Darry's sake if nothing else. For now, it was beneficial, so he could deal with it later. "We stayed outta streetlamps and stuff."

Dallas clapped his hands in jest. "Good. Knew you two'd make good Greasers one day. If you can keep that up, ya'll might just turn up okay. Oh, and there'll be a good cop and a bad cop."

"What's that mean?" Johnny inquired.

"One'll get his spit all over ya from screamin' so much, and the other'll offer you his handkerchief to wipe it off."

"That makes perfect sense," Johnny murmured, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"You think I'm lyin'?" Dallas asked, trying to curb his ire. Did they not get what was gonna happen if they screwed this up? "Hide and watch, kid. It ain't like what ya see on the tube. There're no white walls and one-sided mirrors. There's you, the pigs, and an overhead lamp. A flashlight if they can get their hands on one."

"Do we get our one phone call?" Ponyboy asked, after battling with the need for information and the risk of angering Dallas further.

"Yeah, but as soon as I get you two on yer way, I'm headin' over to your place to explain everything to the gang," Dallas said nonchalantly, thinking himself mighty fine for having all this planned out. "Darry and Soda'll probably wanna come over to see ya, but visiting hours'll be over by then. You might wanna save your call for later."

"I don't suppose they can bail us out," Johnny asked, looking more and more nauseated as everything was explained.

"Not unless they got a fortune hidden under the bed. But they can come visit ya'll tomorrow. I'll show, just to shake the fuzz."

Ponyboy furrowed his brow in confusion. "How would that 'shake the fuzz'?"

"'Cause, they'd expect me to stay away. Who goes back to see the ones they just helped get in the joint? Two steps ahead, boys. Any day of the week." He tossed his burnt cig out the window, frowning as he saw that he was almost out. He bought two packs before he went to see the boys, and now he was down to three smokes out of twenty in six hours. Some distant part of his brain told him it wasn't healthy… _To Hell with cancer. _ He lit another weed. _It can bite me for all I care._

Neither of the younger boys had any idea what he was talking about, but it was Dallas. He'd gotten them this far. _I just hope he's right, _Johnny thought, mindlessly chewing on a fingernail. _I can't take The Walk. Not yet. _He felt his heartbeat accelerate, and he longed for a smoke. His nerves were getting the best of him, but he knew if he smoked, he'd be sick. He hadn't eaten since the Dairy Queen, and one should never smoke when they had gone a while without food. Dal had offered, but he couldn't stomach it, and neither could Ponyboy.

"I think it's startin'," Ponyboy said, in reference to the dull game old folks were so fond of.

Dally nodded. "Let's hang back a sec. When they're all gone, I'll pull up to Poplar Street."

After a tense moment of waiting, the parking lot was cleared of all living (or undead, as Dallas so cleverly called them) things. Taking one last look around, Dally turned the keys in the ignition. When the engine roared to life with unnerving clatter, he thought chastely about having Steve take a look at it. It was his only ride, unless he wanted to hot something. With the fuzz breathing down his neck lately, he didn't want to chance it.

When the car was running, loud as it may be, Dallas twisted in his seat so that he could look both boys in the eye. "Once you two get outta this car, there ain't no goin' back. Are you sure ya'll wanna do this? I can try figure somethin' out." He berated himself for caring so much, but Greasers looked after one another, through Hell of high water. Especially if they're your buddies, and young ones at that.

Ponyboy and Johnny shared a significant look, both asking the other without a word. Dallas never understood how they could comprehend each other like that, with just one look, but he left it well enough alone.

"Yeah," Ponyboy said with a hard finality. "It's what's right."

Dally was a little taken aback at Ponyboy's maturity at the moment, but he supposed it was always there. The flaxen man raised an eyebrow at Johnny, who gave a slight nod of affirmation. He sighed. He didn't know what he expected to happen at this crucial moment of their plan. But Dallas always knew that, even though the two were quiet, they were never cowardly. Not even Johnny, as jumpy as he was. He was a good man in a rumble, and a good man besides. Ponyboy was younger, but had acquired a tuff attitude that came with being a Curtis. They were fighters, and they'd stick together till the end. He felt a swell of reverence for them rise in his chest.

"Let's get this over with," Dally said, backing the Bird out of the cramped parking spot. He tried to be gentle on the way out, not wanting to set off any alarms and screw up the whole plan. He pulled out of the lot, taking a turn on Tibber Street. Johnny had lost his nauseated look, replacing it with a grim expression. Ponyboy paralleled his eldest brother's hard countenance in the face of adversary. Dallas had his usual passive look. They could have been three Greases standing together on the corner of Pickett and Sutton, looking tuff for a cute broad or to scare off Socs.

But they weren't. They were three teenagers, scared and brave at the same time, wary of the thought of what was to come.

The drive to Poplar was swift and mute. The ruckus of the engine seemed deafening compared to the hush that fell over the three. The air seemed to thicken, but maybe it was the result of all the grime floating around from the roof of the Bird. When the street sign of their desired destination reflected the dim glow of the headlights, Dallas pulled over.

There was a moment of silence. No one knew what to say.

"Here we are," Dallas said, looking at anything but his buddies. "You know what ya gotta do?"

"Yup." Johnny knew he couldn't put this off any longer. He had to do it before he lost his nerve.

"Be careful. Anybody gives you two trouble, throw my name around. I'll make good on it." The name Dallas Winston held plenty of influence among Greasers and Socs alike.

"We will," said Ponyboy, knowing full well they wouldn't. They killed a man; they probably wouldn't be bothered, at least not in a jail cell full of JDs.

Dallas searched for some scrap of valuable guidance, something for them to part with, but he found his mouth had gone bone-dry. All he could do was nod, and continue to look forward at nothing.

"You ready, Pone?" Johnny asked, eyeing at his best buddy.

Ponyboy swallowed. "As ready as I'll ever be." His voice never wavered. He turned to the tow-headed man, and put a firm hand on his slumped shoulder. "Thanks for everythin', Dal."

"Yeah, thanks Dally," Johnny muttered, not unkindly. He opened the door and stood, the inky blackness of night washing over him. This may be his last night as a free man. The thought weighed down on him like a ton of bricks. Ponyboy had followed suit, and set his spine straight next to his friend, a weightiness about him that derided his age. The streetlamp washed them out, casting eerie shadows across their faces. Dallas refrained from taking one last look. Ponyboy, he wasn't worried about; the day he'd get thrown in prison was the day Dallas helped an old lady across the street. But Johnny. He couldn't make it, it wasn't the place for any kid to be, particularly a kid like him. He's young, shy, and not bad looking by any standards. They'd get him the same way… _No, _he thought, trying not to let his anger crush him. _Later. _

The oldest of the trio tried to think of something, _anything_ that would be helpful to them. He came up short once again. Instead, he used old steady, the one he recited every time he parted ways with them. "I'm headin' out. I'll see ya'll tomorrow."

With that, he pulled out onto the deserted road, and sped away into the dark. Both boys watched the car, and their friend, leave them alone to face the music. They stared down the street long after the Bird disappeared from view.

"Let's get goin', Johnnycake," Ponyboy said, breaking the quiet.

Both boys flipped up the collars of their respective jackets, and walked as toward the station swiftly as they dared without attracting attention that wasn't really there. The youths could have sworn they were being watched, the ghost of warm breath running down their necks. Whispers of, 'Hey, Grease,' rang through their minds loud and clear.

Still they trudged on, never looking back, the bright light of the street lamps stinging their eyes. It seemed like they were already taking The Walk to Ponyboy, whose stomach was in knots. He glanced over to his dark-haired friend, who for once kept his eyes ahead of him, instead of on the ground. He did the same.

When the luminosity of the police station came into view, they slowed their pace. Time seemed to flow with its own heartbeat. Ponyboy expected everything to go in slow motion, like the scenes he read about. Instead, it seemed to go too fast. Johnny and he were standing right outside the circle of light that went around the station.

There was a look shared between them.

And they walked.

A giant glass door stood between them and their temporary housing. Johnny pushed against the metal bar, not knowing what to expect. The light blinded his eyes, which had become accustomed to dimness in the last few hours. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that Dallas was right; there was no hustle and bustle like you see on the TV or in movies. These men looked exhausted and worn, coffee in hands and on desks, phones ringing off the hook.

When no one seemed to notice them, Johnny bravely walked up to the balding man at the front desk, who was on the phone and scribbling something down on a piece of paper. When they two fugitives _still _went unnoticed, he cleared his throat.

"Hold on a minute, ma'am," the man said into the mouthpiece. "What?" he snapped at the two.

"Uh, I'm Johnny Cade, and this is Ponyboy Curtis, and…" he started uneasily. _Better to just get on with it, _he thought. Pony raised a hand in address. "We're wanted for the murder of Bob Sheldon."

The man dropped the phone, eyeing them with surprise. He pressed the hold button, never taking an eye off them. The whole police station seemed to halt, motionless. Both boys tried not to recoil as the cops started toward them, as if they were about to make a run of it right after they came waltzing in. Ponyboy gave his friend a slight grin as they were forced onto the filthy carpeting, handcuffed, and thrown into an empty cell.

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**Tell me what ya think! Review!**


	3. No Rain

**Thanks for the reviews and alerts. Also, I forgot to mention that this story is Rated T for swearing *cough*Dallas*cough* and other things along the line I may decide to include, but there will be warnings when and if the occasion arises.**

**Enjoy.**

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August 12th, 1965; 10:24 PM

Dallas was seriously considering upgrading from his weeds to grass. _These damn things do fuck-all of nothin' lately, _he thought, striking another match for his smoke. He had found an extra pack of cigs in the glove compartment, but the damn things were Camels. To make things worse, now he was running out of matches. His nerves were biting into him while he drove to the familiar Curtis home, nearly hitting a mailbox or a fire hydrant here and there. He was driving without really driving, going on autopilot. A smirk played at his lips, thinking to himself that he could walk there blindfolded.

He was thankful that the streets were mostly vacant, it being a weeknight. Even the Greasers were watching Mickey reruns tonight. He supposed that maybe he drove better when he was drunk than when he was sober and tense, due to his recklessness presently. His turns were more like lurches, and stop signs could kiss his ass.

Trying to rid himself of the odd buzzing in his ears, Dally fiddled with the radio, trying to find something worth hearing. Beatles, Animals, Rolling Stones, but nothing too remarkable, Beatles… he paused for an instant on a song that kept talking about 'yesterday' with violins and crap that he'd like to see smashed. Nonetheless, he found himself listening to it for a while, pondering vaguely what it was really about. It had a tranquil feel to it, like something good ole' Mrs. Curtis used to play on school nights to help vacate the boys from the house when they didn't want to leave… Then it dawned on him. It was _The_ _freakin' Beatles_!He hastily turned the radio off, as if it was about to detonate.

Dallas Winston, badass Greaser number one, was listening to The Beatles for fifteen seconds of his life. _Fifteen seconds I'll never get back, _he thought with a sulk. _Pop bullshit. What Mrs. Curtis saw in them, I'll never know._

The next few turns and run stop signs passed by in a serene quiet.

Soon, the quiet seemed forced, tense even. He felt the familiar ache in his back, pent up energy begging to be released. Like a pulled back bowstring, targeting some animal to shoot at. He felt the high he got when he got excited or bored. Dally had half a mind to pull over at some dive to get into a brawl, or maybe run a lap. Something to get this hum of excitement out of him.

_This must be what it's like to be Soda, _he mused.

Dally's leg was shaking, occasionally gunning the car without him meaning to. He felt relief flood his body when he pulled up to the old house with white paint smeared with dirt from mud fights. The old Ford was parked in the driveway, and Elvis could be heard wafting from the house. _Oh, sure, they find good music on the radio, but I get The Beatles? Tuff, real tuff._

He parked the T-Bird next to the Ford and sauntered into the house like usual, taking all three steps in one stretch of his long legs. When he entered, and no one looked up, he slammed the door for emphasis of his arrival. The three Stooges, Two-Bit, Steve and Soda, were playing cards at the dinner table. Bottles of beer were sparsely spread about the smoky room. They had all been downtrodden after the boys left, and this gloomy scene could prove it. Normally, school night or not, the house would be alive with wrestling, laughing, and loud music. This would go on for hours until Darry told them all to shut up, go home, or call dibs on the couch.

The key factor in all this was Soda. He was always the life of the party, whether there was a bash or not. His deep brown eyes, which would usually light up at the sight of anyone he even remotely liked, were now dead and haunted. Dally, if he had such emotion, would feel guilt for taking away the light in his eyes.

But he didn't, as far as the blond was concerned, so there was no use worrying over it.

They all nodded to him in acknowledgement, Two-Bit muttering a brief hello to him, and went on playing what seemed to be Gin. He sat down on the floral patterned couch, kicking up his feet on the coffee table. For once, no one held any objection to it.

"Where's Superman?" he asked to no one in particular as he ashed his smoke in a nearby ashtray.

"Shower," said Two-Bit. He put a card down on the table, and Steve cursed under his breath.

"Hey Sodapop, ya'll got any matches?" he asked, recalling his earlier problem.

"Drawer of the table ya got yer muddy boots on should have some," Soda said, shooting him an obscure look.

Dally, never one to take hints, took the matches from the drawer and returned his feet to the table with a salute to the middle Curtis

"So," Dallas started, deciding to bury the lead. "How you guys been?"

"Eh."

"Been better."

"Okay," Steve said, not looking up from his game. "Where ya been all day?"

"Oh, nowhere," Dallas said, taking out his blade to pick at his fingernails casually. "Just got back from the station."

"The station?" asked a deep voice from the hall, belonging to a shirtless Darry emerging from the bathroom. "What were you doin' at the station?"

Dal gave his signature shit-eating grin. "Just droppin' off two fugitives."

Comprehension took a moment to spread itself across the room.

"You knew where they were?" Darry asked incredulity, stepping into the kitchen.

Dally took a sip of the nearest beer, which happened to be on the coffee table. "Maybe." He didn't know why he felt the need to be coquettish. Perhaps it was liberation for him, or it could have been e a loose screw, but he was having sick fun.

"Don't joke about things like that, Dal," Two-Bit said, assessing the brothers' reactions.

"I look like I'm jokin'?" Dally asked, a serious demeanor taking over his features.

Two-Bit's jaw snapped up dumbly.

Steve sought the blond's eyes for some form of pranking scheme behind them, coming up short.

"He's serious," he declared. "I can't believe it."

"Why'd you take 'em to the station?" Two-Bit asked, disconcerted. "Wasn't the whole point of them goin' off into the sunset to get them _away _from the cops?"

"Their idea," Dally said, shrugging. "I was just the free lift."

"So… they're safe," Soda said slowly.

"As safe as ya can be with pigs surrounding ya, but yeah-"

Before he could finish his verification, Soda hopped clear out of his chair, over the low coffee table, and embraced Dallas for all he was worth. Much to the younger man's dismay, Soda looked ready to kiss him. Being in a considerably decent mood, and trying to get Soda off of him, he turned the hug into playful tussling, landing on the faded carpet while giving Soda a noggie.

"Wait a damn minute, _you knew where they were_?" Darry asked again, marching over and pulling Soda up by his collar like the puppy he was.

A disgruntled Dallas stood up slowly, good humor vanished. "Yeah, I did. I know I shoulda said somethin', but I thought it'd be better if-"

He leaned back with an adept ease as Darry swung at him.

"What the fuck, man?" Dallas snarled at the larger man, preparing himself for another blow. He wasn't going to start a fight with one of his oldest buddies, but he wasn't going to get his assed kicked by him, either.

"My _brother _was missing, I haven't got a decent night's sleep all week, Soda stayed up cryin' every night," Soda reddened at this. "And all this time, you knew where they were." It was a statement, more than a question. "Why didn't ya say anything?"

"'Cause, I knew you'd all go off lookin' for them. Hell, Two-Bit damn near went to Texas to go find them. You'dve got the fuzz on your trail if ya'll went out to visit them."

"You could've at least told us where they were, instead of worryin' us all," said Darry, trying to keep his temper in check.

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. He knew he should try to defuse the situation, but that was Soda's job. Though the blond did nothing but watch the argument take place.

"I did what I thought would work, and everything turned out alright. What's your problem?"

"My problem is that you've always been one of my best buddies, and you didn't have the mind to tell me where my own brother was," Darry said, voice rising with every word.

Dally couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You should be thankin' me! If I hadn't helped them, they'da been hauled in and…" Okay, so maybe there was a flaw in his plan.

"Yeah, if _you _hadn't helped them, they'da gone to the cops in the first place, they wouldn't have had to become fugitives, and this whole thing coulda been over and done with a week ago!" Darry roared. "Thanks Dal, thanks a lot."

"I wasn't the one that started all this shit," the blond growled, vehemence bubbling up inside of him. "If you'da kept your hands off the kid, he'da stayed home!"

Darry looked ready to explode. "What I do with _my _kid brother is none of your business, _Winston_."

Dallas let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Some brother you are," he said, taking a step closer. At this point, the other three Greasers in the room had stood up, ready to intervene, but not exactly eager. The two most dangerous members of their gang fighting wasn't something anyone wanted to be involved in. "Never thought you a child-beater, _Curtis._"

"You're one ta talk! Half the time, you go out lookin' for a fight for the Hell of it!"

"Yeah," Dallas said sinisterly. "But I ain't ever beat up on family."

Darry charged for the blond, but he wasn't fast enough for the Stooges. The three men had him held back in an instant. This time, Dallas took the opportunity to try to swing at the bear of a man, but Two-Bit side-stepped over to him, effortlessly pulling the smaller man to his broad chest.

"Let go of me, Two-Bit! Big man wants to see how tough he is, let's go!" Dallas said, laughing hysterically. If the gang thought he was crazy before, he was absolutely cracked now.

"Oh yeah? Well come on! What're ya waitin' for?" Darry thundered, trying with all his might to squirm out of the men's tight grasp. A blue vein pulsed out in his thick neck. He felt all the strain and wrath of the past week boil over in his chest, and he was ready to go with anyone who provoked him.

"Will you two stop it?" Soda asked enough anguish in his voice to slow both men's' struggling. "We finally get Pony and Johnny back, and you fight about it? Really?! Can you both stop bein' so hard headed for _once_?"

Dallas wrenched himself from Two-Bit's grasp, but instead of going for Darry, he fixed his grease-free hair and popped his collar. "I don't need this shit."

He turned around and thrust the door open, departing before it could slam behind him.

"And don't you ever come back!" Darry bellowed at the closed door, once the two had released him. He followed Dally's lead, and stormed to his room. The three young men cringed as the door closed behind him with a slam.

"Man," Two-Bit whispered as they sat back down at the table, their game forgotten. "What was that about?"

"Dal…" Steve started, not one to talk about others when not in their presence. "He's kinda testy when it comes to stuff like that. Ya'll know how his dad is, man. 'Specially after what happened to his mom and all…"

Soda observed his best friend. Everyone thought he was the listener of the gang. In a sense, he was, but some things he didn't really get. Steve, hot-headed as he could be, always understood serious stuff like that. Stuff Soda would never fathom, being one of the four in the gang that had no experience with abuse.

"Still," Two-Bit said. "He never got that heated over Johnny."

"That's 'cause he couldn't do anythin' about it," said Steve.

"Still, there ain't no excuse for any of that," Two-Bit said, taking a swig of his warming beer.

"Don't gimme that, Two-Bit. You don't know what it's like ta deal with that shit. Hell, even I thought that kinda stuff would never happen here."

"Can we please stop talkin' about this?" Soda asked, massaging his temples.

"I ain't in the mood for a pissing contest, Steve," Two-Bit said gently, too drained for any of this.

"Yeah, well, don't judge 'til it's you," said the raven haired teen, ending the matter.

Two-Bit said nothing.

Soda said nothing.

Steve dealt the cards.

And Darry paced in his room, trying to get all the stress of the past week, the past _year_, out of his head. He felt the urge to turn around and punch the wall, but that nagging voice in his mind that he was _sure_ was his mother told him he'd have a harder time fixing it than it's worth. Heaving a sigh, he collapsed down on the bed, wakeful and exhausted at the same time.

* * *

**Man, Dally has 99 problems, and I still might make Sylvia one.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	4. Fight For Your Right

**Hello, lovely readers. Thanks for all the alerts and reviews. I like to think I've developed a small cult following :)**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

August 13th, 1965; 2:18 PM

"Look, we know you did it, you know you did it. That's not why we're here. What we wanna know is if Winston helped you," said Officer O'Doyle.

Johnny tried not to grimace at the sickeningly sweet tone the man took with him, as if he were a child. _I guess this is good cop, _he thought. In true Greaser fashion, he sat hunched in his seat, and tried to look somewhat tuff, but not enough to anger the officers. He was trying to cooperate to a degree, but after an hour of the same question, he was losing his patience.

The ginger officer had found no flashlight, but the light bulb above his head made his eyes throb in the windowless room. Dallas had been right about there being no white walls; these were cement, and the grey hue clashed with the old timber table and chair that was occupied by the dark teen.

The balding man in the corner had done nothing but stare him down the whole time. He was enormous, bigger than Darry even. His piercing glare had stayed on him, and, though unnerving at first, it did nothing now. If he were going to do something, he would have done it already.

"He didn't help us. I told ya that already. We left from McKinley forest yesterday when it got dark, and we came straight here."

* * *

"Okay," growled Officer Martin. "Then why'd he say you two were in Texas?"

Ponyboy sighed. Holding up his story was easier than he thought it would be, but it was getting exasperating repeating himself. To make matters worse, this silver haired man yelling at him really needed a breath mint.

"Because," said the young teen. "He didn't know where we were, so he made somethin' up to throw ya'll off. He didn't know we were here, but there was a one in a million chance we actually _went _to Texas, so he probably just said the first thing that came to mind."

The air in the room was stale, and Ponyboy felt as if he was going to choke on it. The two men in the room with him had been trading between asking him the same question rephrased.

"Come on, Mitch, go easy on the kid," said Officer Thurgood, putting a light hand on the older man's shoulder. "He turned himself in; he's not on trial yet."

* * *

The cop lost his temper at that moment.

"Kid, _we know _Winston helped you; fess up before we tack on more charges for lying to us," said Officer Clark, moving from his place in the corner to stand parallel to Johnny against the table. "Or, we could use other ways to make you talk." He subtly moved a hand to his baton.

"If ya _know_, what's the point of all this?" Johnny asked, oblivious of how much he sounded like a no-good JD to the officers.

The balding man's face turned an unwholesome shade of red, and O'Doyle came up to stand next to him.

"John, my partner here, he's grumpy. He's been here all night, and he's tired. He doesn't like getting spoken to like that. You already made good with us by coming in here, so you have no reason to talk that way."

* * *

"You're a good kid, Ponyboy. No record, no nothing. If you just tell us what we wanna know, you and your friend can go back to your cells," said Thurgood.

A third officer entered the room, whispering something into the brunette man's ear, making him grin. The third officer left without a word.

"So," said the man. "Looks like your friend confessed.

* * *

Johnny scoffed. "Of course he did," he said, rolling his black eyes. "What did he say?"

"You tell us."

* * *

"I ain't dumb," said Ponyboy. "I know he didn't confess 'cause there's nothing to confess to."

"Then why'd he say Winston told you to go into the woods?"

"Because ya'll made it up. We didn't see Dallas that night."

"Really?" asked Clark. "Then why's your hand shaking?"

* * *

"'Cause I think it's real stupid for us to be here talking to ya when you could be out looking for the people who jumped us. They ain't innocent, either."

"We'll get right on that," said O'Doyle soothingly. "And we'll let you go in a minute. I'm just gonna ask you one more time. Did Dallas Winston help you hide?"

"No."

* * *

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, Ponyboy. You can go back to your cell," said Thurgood.

* * *

"Good talking to ya, Cade," said Clark, throwing the small teen into a cell across from Ponyboy's.

Johnny shot his friend and partner in crime an appraising look, and the auburn teen shook his head ever so slightly. Johnny nodded in understanding.

"So," asked Ponyboy, loud enough for the guards to hear. "Did your guy's breath reek as much as mine did?"

* * *

**Short chapter, I know, but it's confusing writing like that.**

**Review, and meanwhile, back at the ranch...**


	5. Within You Without You

**I just realized I haven't been replying to reviews! Gotta get back on my game. Replies are at the bottom for the sake of flow.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

August 13th, 1965; 5:00 PM

The sight of four hoods walking up to his desk put Deputy Johnson on alert. They didn't seem menacing, but you could never know when it came to those type of kids. He eyed them, waiting for some kind of chaos to ensue.

"S'cuse me," said the largest one, much to the deputy's surprise. The last time a kid said that to him was… never. "We're here to see Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis."

"Sign-in sheet's right there," he said, nodding to a stack of papers. Each boy took his turn putting their name on the paper. When they had finished, they looked down at the deputy expectantly.

"Alright," said the middle-aged man, standing up, papers in hand. "I'll take these to the office to get approved. You can wait over there," Johnson said, gesturing toward some metal chairs by the door.

"Thanks," Darry said, and the group headed to the cluster of chairs. The cop left through a door marked 'OFFICE' in block letters.

"Soda, stop bouncin' so much," Darry whispered to his younger brother.

"Sorry, Dar," Soda said, his wild grin a welcome change from the sullen expression he had worn for the past week. "I'm just excited, is all. I hope they're doin' okay. I hope nobody gave them any trouble while they were in here. If somebody did, all I need is a name-"

"Soda, I doubt anything happened in the one day they've been here. Pony said they were put in solitary cells, so there ain't nobody to mess with them." Darry couldn't help but grin at the memory of Ponyboy's phone call last night. Soda nearly knocked him over trying to get the receiver for himself.

Steve smirked, and said in a low tone, "Did ya'll se the way he looked at us when we came in? Musta thought we were gonna start a riot or somethin'."

"You would be the one do that," Two-Bit mumbled, who had been abnormally quiet since the explosion the night before.

"Ya'll said you'd be on your best behavior," Darry said sternly. "We only got today and Monday to see Pony and Johnny before the trial starts. I don't wanna get kicked out before we even get to see them."

"We won't start nothin' Dar, I was just saying." Steve didn't want to get on Darry's bad side today; he had been moody since his confrontation with Dally, and he didn't want to be the one to set him off.

"I wonder if they get enough food here. I doubt it's any good. I bet the water tastes like-"

A man in a white button up stained with ink poked his head out of the office and began reading off a clipboard. "Darrel Curtis, Sodapop Curtis, Steve Randle, and… Two-Bit Mathews..."

Darry gave Two-Bit a slap upside the head as the party stood at being addressed.

"Sorry," he said feebly. "Force of habit…" He was so used to signing 'Two-Bit' on the few papers he actually turned in at school. He wondered if any of the teachers remembered his real name.

"Son, could I get your real name?" the man asked, assuming the one who got slapped was 'Two-Bit'.

"Keith Mathews," Two-Bit said, watching as the man wrote something down on his clipboard.

"Alright," he said when he finished. "I'm Officer Smith, if it means anything to ya." He extended his hand, and each of the boys gave a firm shake, not used to cops treating them with civility.

"You boys follow me, and try not to touch anything," said the older man, not unkindly.

He led them through the station. Soda wanted to stick his tongue out at the cops giving them probing looks, but Darry must have read his mind, because he shook his head at him. They passed the cell block, and the men wondered if they knew anyone in there. They came to a barred room, seeing Ponyboy and Johnny handcuffed to either side of the wooden table, dressed in bright orange jumpsuits. Two men stood by the cell door, latex-gloved hands held at their sides.

"We're gonna have to frisk you all. It'll only take a minute," said Smith.

"Hey, what're the gloves for?" Steve asked, ogling the hands of the men.

"Oh," Smith let out a chuckle. "They're just a precaution. If you could all take your blades outta your pockets, - Now don't look at me like that. You think you're the first youths I've dealt with? - just put them in the box over there. Ya'll can get them back when you leave."

The boys didn't like any of that, but Darry gave them an daunting look, so they conceded. The two men frisked Soda and Steve first, and when the cop's hand grazed his thigh, it took all Steve had not to drop-kick him. Next was Darry and Two-Bit, which was comical due to the fact that the cops were smaller than both Greasers.

When the invasion was finished, Smith fished for his keys. He found them, and opened the steel door, allowing them access.

"You've got thirty minutes. No touching the inmates, no yelling, yada-yada. Just behave, savvy?"

The four men nodded, walking into the cramped cell.

Of course, the first thing Soda did was break rule number one by scooping up both boys into a hug, straining their bonded wrists.

"Good to see you, too, Soda," Johnny said, beaming like there was no tomorrow.

"Hey!" yelled Smith. "What'd I tell ya?" He looked stern, but his harsh voice didn't match his expression.

"Sorry," Soda said, giving each boy a sloppy kiss on the cheek, and settled down into a chair. The gang followed suit, as Ponyboy and Johnny wiped Soda's saliva off their faces with their free hands.

Darry noted that the young teens looked skinnier than usual, but kept his mouth shut. Ponyboy seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him, but maybe he was just zeroing in on Soda, as usual.

Johnny tilted his head to look behind them, and upon seeing no one, looked up at the gang with barely concealed sadness. "Where's Dally?"

"He, uh, couldn't make it," Darry said, daring the gang to say anything further.

"Oh, that's alright. He'll come next time." The men cursed Dally for not even attempting to come. They had called Buck's, but the man-child told them he was 'out', which is code for 'he doesn't want to talk to you'. He knew how much he meant to Johnny, and he also knew about his trust issues.

_I'll get him for this, _Steve thought.

"So, how ya'll doin'?" Two-Bit asked, as if they had seen each other yesterday.

"Actually been okay in here," Ponyboy said. "We get fed on the reg, and we've got cards and stuff."

"Yeah," Johnny said with a chuckle. "Try playing Go Fish from across a cell block."

The older boys grinned, enjoying the rare sight of the dark teen jesting, particularly in a place like this.

"Anybody giving ya any trouble?" Soda asked, his face losing some vigor, but his eyes staying ablaze.

"Nah," Ponyboy said. "We got solitary. We got lucky though; there're only two solitary cells."

"Yeah," said Steve. "I remember me and Dal got stuck in there one night for fightin'. It was more my fault than his though. Dal's always been chill in prison, but Evie's brother was in that night. And do ya'll know what that jackass did?..."

Steve went on to tell some story about his arch nemesis Rick Bradley. At the mention of Dally's name, Darry got a light scowl on his face. Ponyboy noticed this, and gave his brother a confused look. Darry, not wanting to discourse this in front of the gang, merely looked away.

"And all that time, it was a pickle. A _pickle_."

The whole gang burst into laughter, the eldest and youngest Curtis brothers faking it, not having heard a word of the story. Their commotion got them warning looks from Smith, who sat patiently outside.

"Hey," Two-Bit burst out. "Did ya'll hear about Tim getting' in trouble with his girl for flirting with Sylvia? Boy, was she pissed."

"Tim has a girl?" Johnny asked. Tim Shepard wasn't the kind of guy that stuck to one broad.

"Yeah, Jeanie Coulter. Feisty thing she is. Not blonde though, so no good… Anyway, word is he had his hand inching down ole' Sylvia's shirt, in the Dingo of all places, and Jeanie came in with some of her friends. Almost cut his head off. Man, ya'll shoulda seen it." Two-Bit's annoying laugh rang through the jail, but the sound was comforting. Between Soda not smiling and Two-Bit not cracking wise all week, this change in attitude for the both of them helped lift everyone's spirits.

More gossip followed from the oldest member of their gang. The boys pretended to listen zealously, but they never acquired the taste for rumors Two-Bit had. Steve and Soda had some input, and Darry grinned occasionally, reminiscing about how things like that seemed so important a year ago. Man, did he feel foolish for that.

Steve, noticing Soda's glances at his baby brother, decided to speak up. "Hey, Two-Bit, maybe we should leave. I think they need some time to talk about… whatever it is that brothers talk about."

Two-Bit stretched exaggeratedly, and stood up. "I'm thinking you're right, Stevie," he said, looking down fondly at his two friends. "It's been great, fellas, but it's about time we hit the old dusty trail. Ya'll keep outta trouble, ya hear?"

Smith opened the door silently.

Steve nodded curtly. "We'll see ya'll on the outside. We'll be waiting in the truck. That goes for all of ya." The tough Greaser cracked a grin, leaving alongside Two-Bit.

"Do ya'll want me to leave?" Johnny asked, feeling intrusive on the brothers' reunion.

"No way, Johnnycake. We wanna talk to you, too." Soda had a way of making anyone feel better with a smile, so Johnny tried to set himself at ease. "Now that we got rid of Chatter Box and his trusty companion Mouth."

"How have ya'll been, really?" Darry asked, concern lacing its way through his voice.

"We've been doin' fine, Darry, really," said Ponyboy, trying to reassure his brother. Yeah, the nights were lonely, not cuddled up to Soda or Johnny, but they got to talk, play cards, and eat something besides _bologna_.

Soda could always tell when his brother was lying, and he detected truth. "Johnny?"

"Pony's got the same opinion I do. S'okay, I guess. I'm just kinda nervous for the trial and all. They're talking about trying us separately, and I think I'd like that better."

Ponyboy looked aghast. "You think yer too good to go to trial with me?"

Johnny's expression softened at his buddy's attempt to cheer him. "Nah, I just think it'd help if one of us got an easier sentence, then the other wouldn't look so bad."

"Makes sense," Darry said approvingly, as if he had any say in the matter.

"Well," Soda said, attempting to lighten the mood. "I'm sure the both of ya'll are gonna be fine. You came in yourselves, and we got people to testify. What's the worst that could happen?"

_Death row, _Johnny thought, paling visibly.

Darry noticed this, and nudged the blond in his side. "Anyway, I'm glad your doin' okay. But why did ya'll run-"

"Uh, Darry, maybe we can talk about that when we get home. It's still kinda painful to talk about _right just now_." Ponyboy kept his voice even, but Darry saw the panic in the boy's eyes. Johnny's expression matched Pony's, and he lightly shook his Grease-less head at Darry.

"Five minutes," called Smith.

Soda gave both boys a tender look, wishing more than anything that he could give them some sort of reassurance that everything would be alright. He knew he couldn't, because he knew nothing of these matters. If the expression on Darry's face was any indication, he was thinking the same.

"I love you guys," Soda said honestly. He and Darry stood up hesitantly. "We'll see ya Monday. Try not to burn anything down before then, ya dig?"

Both teens grinned. "Sure thing, Pepsi-Cola," said Ponyboy, wishing for a Soda hug. Those seemed to make everything better. But he didn't want to test Officer Smith, who had been nice to them on the few occasions of meeting they had.

"I… I love ya," he said, looking between the youngest members of their gang. "Be careful."

Smith opened the door for the second time, and the two men left. Their final glances at young boys about broke Soda's heart. They looked so small, too little to be in any of this. He knew they weren't kids; Hell, Johnny was as old as he was. But it was their innocence that stepped on his heart when he thought of them rotting away in a prison cell, just for defending themselves.

The brothers followed Smith back through the jail, still getting the distrustful looks from the fuzz. Darry's view of things was similar to the blond's. Really, he owed Johnny everything. He saved his baby brother, and was willing to face the unwarranted repercussions. He wanted to give him his thanks, but he just needed to find the time to tell him.

"Here're your blades, fellas," said Smith, holding the plastic box out to them. When they had retrieved them, the box went under his arm.

"You boys have a good one," said Smith, shaking both of their hands before returning to the office.

The men stepped out into the bright sunlight, disliking the sudden change from the dim light in the jail. Darry's truck was waiting outside for them, and they ambled over to it. Darry checked his front pocket, where he normally kept the keys, and found them gone. He must have left them in the truck. _Smart way to get your ride stolen by some hood, _he thought, looking upon his old friends in his truck. _Or two hoods._

Darry thought about reprimanding Steve for even turning the ignition on, but decided against it. It was Dad's truck, and Dad never did that to any of the boys, blood or not. He always said not to wreck it, to always ask first, and they could take it anywhere. The thing that made the head of the Curtis family take a liking to the neighborhood kids was that they never abused this rule or his trust. Darry decided to do the same.

"Steve, you wanna drive?" Darry asked when Steve opened the driver's side door and made to get out.

"Really?" Steve asked. He had always loved the steady feel of the well-kept Ford.

"Yeah," said Darry, settling in the bed with Two-Bit while Soda got in the passenger's side. "Just don't crash it."

"Thanks, Dar," Steve said, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the open road.

* * *

**And now, replies.**

**Bindzoyaether: Thanks! Got that all fixed. I was just going for what the paper would have said, being biased to the Socs. Thanks for reading.**

**2Kayla's-heart: Thanks for reading! Much love. Here's the next chappie for ya, but you probably already knew that :P**

**Chick1966: Thanks for reviewing/reading. Yes, we will see their trials, but I'm trying them separately, just cuz :P **

**Thanks to all the reviews/alerts. When I get more stable internet, I'll give shout outs to the favorites/alerts. **

**Meanwhile, back at the ranch...**


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